


Gilded Butterflies

by Shiggityshwa



Series: Watch the Birdie [11]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Canon Compliant, Dark fic, Episode: s10e13 The Road Not Taken, F/M, Misogyny, Ori, Pre-the road not taken, Pregnancy, Stranded, dark au, orici, stranded fic, ver isca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: An imagined retelling of Season 9 and 10 in the 'Road Not Taken' universe. Eleventh in an ongoing series detailing what happened in the The Road Not Taken universe before Sam's arrival. Focuses Cameron's fall from grace and Vala's incarceration at Area 51. This story deals specifically with working with Seevis to overthrow the Ori.
Relationships: Vala Mal Doran/Cameron Mitchell
Series: Watch the Birdie [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1183454
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Birds Sigh A Prayer

She stands idly at the window after pulling on one of her drab green dresses. The material scratches her skin, ropey, stringy, and peeling, perhaps being constructed from some form of plant fiber. She itches absently, watching a bird flit around outside the loft windows, jumping on the stony ledge, twittering happily while constructing what looks to be the beginnings of a makeshift nest.

She has been keeping up with the two little songbirds as they stand near the pane and sing every morning since the harsh winter dissipated. Knows this because the baby responds to the song in the same way that it does her lobbing off a chunk of sugarcane for her morning tea—spinning, spiraling, as if dancing along with nature’s tune.

Her pregnancy is evolving, continuing from the first light tickles within her that she expected were more a form of latent anxiety than evidence of their child learning to be mobile. She’s far enough along now that this child becoming a permanent part of their familial unit is destined. That thought spreads out leading her mind astray, mainly if her and Cameron are truly a family—which they are—and if they will be allowed to continue to live as a family back on Earth—which is doubtful.

“Hey.” His early morning footsteps are heavier than he’d admit to as he plods up the stairs, finding her stationary at the top. Her hand rubbing the baby’s kicking foot, ignoring the heaviness of them as they jolt within her. “I was just coming to get you.”

She grins at him, her hair pulled back and away from her face, and her posture calm despite everything that’s happened within the last week.

No one has seen Seevis in over a week and while his absence is refreshing—knowing he will not be tearing her out of the house while Cameron is away—she cannot help the foreboding feeling cycling through her body along with their baby’s limbs.

“They’re dancing again.”

He places a chaste kiss on her cheek, and then one on her bared shoulder, before his hand falls down to partner with hers. “The birds out?”

“Right there.” She points outside the window to the little ball of feathers, hopping around, stacking sticks and leaves. Making a home. Trying to survive just as they are.

“That’s really something,” he chuckles, bending forward so his conversational partner becomes just below her navel. “You like the birdies?”

As if comprehending, the baby offers him a kick, not that he gets to feel it though, as her kidney takes the brunt of the damage. He does react when she crunches her body towards him, the kick more of a surprise then painful, and his warm hand floats up to cover the area, curling around her lower ribs to the top of her hip bone.

“Come on. Breakfast is ready.”

Snags his outstretched hand, following him gingerly down the stairs which are becoming more of a physical activity with each day. Wagers that they have less than eight weeks—two months—to do something about their current situation if they do not want their child born in this place.

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” Slows as she reaches the square landing. There’s a cushion pushed into the far corner now because sometimes she climbs the first four steps, becomes irreparably exhausted, and has to bunk down until she regains her stamina which usually involves a nap.

Once he came home and found her well asleep on the stair landing and feared the worst. His violent shake woke her immediately, and when she asked what the emergency was, he simply held her, alternated between laughing, near crying, and reprimanding her for her poor choice of bed.

The next day when he came home, he had a large cushion in tow which he dropped on the landing for her. Explaining that it would help her if she slipped and help her if she wanted to sleep.

“Uh oh.” He stops at the bottom of the stairs, waiting in case she needs help, ready in case she takes a tumble, all while acting completely nonchalant, like his alert position has nothing to do with her. “What’d I do now?”

“You didn’t do anything.” Stops three steps from the bottom, her face drawn in confusion. “Unless you did do something, and you want to tell me about it now?”

“Oh no, Sweetheart.” Holds his hand out for her to grab for stability, and she notices that her knuckles are baring white against the grip she has on the staircase railing. “I haven’t fallen for that one since middle school.”

He helps her down the last few steps, so she stands on even level with him, though well below his height. He grins at her, perhaps proud of her navigation of a simple staircase. It would be patronizing if it wasn’t so endearing.

Knows he does it so she doesn’t feel completely useless and defenseless. He does it because their time in Ver Isca as been hard on her. Doesn’t know if it is the hardest—only that it wasn’t the relaxing vacation she wanted or deserved.

There are no beaches, no moments of rest, no one to trust other than him.

“I just really hope you didn’t make that gritty oat concoction you love so much.” Twitches her nose at the idea of the off gray congealed mess tasting of cardboard or some strong herb that she wouldn’t be able to stomach without her current heartburn and food sensitivities.

“Nah, I know the baby hates it.”

“They’re not the only one.”

Slings an arm around her hips, tugging her close to his side where she seems to fit perfectly. She doesn’t remember the majority of her intimate relationships—doesn’t remember much of her life before Qetesh took over, and then she primarily remembers slaughters, feasts, and orgies.

While sex has been an everyday activity she approaches without a sense of reproach, intimacy is something that scares her, makes her doubt her self-worth and her confidence, because she knows everything she’s done, knows the way she was treated by Ba’al, Anubis, and Major Lorne and assumed that behavior was what she should expect.

But with this man, one she saw through the domed glass of his jet, a wreck of a person and could inherently sense the good in him. Knew that he wouldn’t harm her if she tried to help him. She still feels the same way.

Qetesh had trusted her first prime, but was still wary of him, knew that even though her seal of approval was literally stamped into his forehead, that he could be easily swayed by other Goa’uld, and although she tasked him with personal duties, she stalked him, hunted him as a jungle cat from the river reeds.

She trusts Cameron implicitly.

Trusts him even when they disagree about basic things like eating balls of beef is better for her than the slice of cherry pie she craves—or more pertinent issues, like aborting their child for fear of raising them in a cultish, stifling environment. She knows that he only has her best interests in mind, so much so that it clouds his perception, causes him to overlook minor details important to the big picture.

But because of his preoccupation with her needs, wellbeing, happiness, and safety, she can easily piece together the important information he ignores.

“I have the kettle boiling over the fire, I set out a cup of fresh water, and your herbs are in your teacup.”

“Mmm,” hums with pure exhilaration because she doesn’t have to ask to know that he’s also cut a slice of the sugarcane to put in her cup. “You really do spoil me.”

“I try.” Tucks his face against the side of her head, dropping a chaste kiss on her temple and buries his nose in her hair, the action makes her shiver.

“I hate to interrupt—”

Cameron draws his face away from hers, slowly, at the addition of a third voice. His hands slide down her arms, and his eyes never leave their unwelcomed guest, sitting at the head of the table in their kitchen.

“—but time is somewhat of a sensitive—”

Before she comprehends his actions, Cameron’s taken a step forward, blocking her body with his own. He’s on alert and looming impenetrable before her. Never questioned that he would protect her, knows that his devotion to her, and now their child, is unwavering, but has also never seen him react to someone who represents a physical threat against her aside from Lorne.

“What the hell are you doing here, Seevis?” His voice is a low, throaty growl, and his hands are held sternly at his side, not quite balled in fists yet, but similar to the regimented aggression and stance she’s been privy to view while being held prisoner under that mountain. “How the hell did you get in?”

“I’m still acting magistrate to the town, Cameron.” Seevis’s voice is dull, laden, and slow. Heavy with all the alcohol he’s likely been drinking since Denya’s passing a few weeks ago.

“Get out of our house.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Seevis pokes at the bit of bread and butter laid out for her breakfast. “I need you two.”

Cameron’s fingers slowly curl into fists at his side. Her eyes dart from the witnessing the action to Seevis who seems unperturbed at the kitchen table. “Like hell you do.”

“The least you can do, is allow me to explain myself.”

“I’m doing the least I could do right now by not beating your sorry ass an inch from death.”

Either the alcohol has stinted Seevis’s reception, or he just generally doesn’t find Cameron threatening—whatever the answer, it’s not going to work out in his favor. “Remember when I said you’d be thanking me for putting her in the ara.”

“Out.” Cameron marches forward, hefting up the magistrate by under his arms, dragging him to the door.

“You need to hear me—” Seevis continues to try and explain himself, the heels of his muddy boots skidding against their clean floors as he fights against Cameron to remain inside.

From over the man’s shoulder, Cameron catches her eye, nodding towards the door.

As she fiddles with the locks, only four now that the one was smashed off by the group of men who hauled her out—one whom she managed to smash in the face with a cooking pot—Seevis, banks himself against the wall, pushing away with his feet, but Cameron subdues him, pinning both his arms above his head.

Then the magistrate starts crying, slick tears down his red face, and shaking as he sobs. “They were going to do to her, what they did with Denya.”

Her hands freeze on the locks.

“While you were gone, another Prior came to me.” Cameron’s hold slackens on Seevis, though he doesn’t release the man entirely. “He said that your lack of belief needed punishment, and that by burning her, there would be no reason for you to stray from the will of the Ori.”

“You’re lying.” Though the words as spat out in a growl, Cameron doesn’t sound entirely convinced. She isn’t entirely convinced. Obviously burning her alive would result in the baby perishing as well, and if the baby is the Will of the Ori—

“What do I have to gain by lying to you?”

She turns away from the locks, refusing to undo the final deadbolt. “But what do you have to gain by telling us the truth?”

“I know you two are not from around here.” Seevis rolls his shoulders and Cameron releases him, moving back to stand before her, his muscles still tense, waiting to pounce if Seevis oversteps the small freedoms they’ve allowed him.

“Obviously, you signed us into the town.”

“I know you’re not from this galaxy.”

She draws her eyes up to Cameron, who, when considering everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, is keeping his composure incredibly well.

“What makes you think that?”

“When you got here, you weren’t savvy to our customs.” Seevis dusts of his white sleeves, clearing any lingering effect from the scuffle. “Something I became privy to when you stated you left your previous village due to uprising in nonbelievers even though the Ori massacred the last facet two years ago.”

The baby punts rather hard at her side, making readjust her stance. “So why not tell the Priors? Secure yourself a higher position in their hierarchy.”

Cameron’s hand covers hers where their baby is tumbling within her, trying to alleviate her discomfort. “Yeah, from what we’ve seen, you’ve sold guys with less sins up the river.”

“Because they were not opposers of the Ori.” They both fall silent at Seevis’s insinuations as the man gestures back to where he was sitting at their kitchen table. “I have an offer that might interest you.”


	2. By This Hand

The next day is a holiday celebrating the completion of the Ori vessels nestled in the canyon which she’s only viewed once. Strayed from home midday to try to explore the surroundings when Cameron was away on duty. She found out how close the nearest village was and where a few of the random paths lead to—some to small farms on the outskirts of the village, some to larger roads used to travel between other towns.

Saw men marching and preforming in units as ants, constructing large oblong ships shining in the heavy sun, using rudimentary materials like logs and mud to construct the shell of something so advanced, so deadly reminded her of her time as Qetesh, of enslaving millions in order to do her bidding, starving them, working them to death.

The baby hiccupped within her, didn’t kick or punch, just shimmied, and it drew her back from desolate memories to notice footsteps over rotting leaves and the low hum of a quiet conversation. She didn’t know what the punishment was for leaving the house unattended, but she wasn’t raring to find out.

Little did she know that in less than a week she would be dragged from her own kitchen and shackled down as an animal once again.

Tomin comes to collect Cameron in the morning, and she makes herself scarce on the stairs, overhearing the conversation.

“Cameron, you must be present.”

“I really wish I could—”

“Then come.”

“Vala isn’t doing too good and with the baby due soon, I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Tomin laughs, but doesn’t seem to understand the future forward subject of co-parenting.

“It is her job to care for the child.”

“And it’s my duty to care for her.”

There’s a bit more convincing on Tomin’s behalf reduced down to soft chitchat, but eventually, Cameron’s friend leaves unhappily. “If she is feeling better later in the day, you’re both still welcome at the ceremony.”

“Thanks,” Cameron offers before waving off his friend, and shutting the door, four locks and all, behind him.

“He admires you, you know.” She sits on her cushion, on the landing, rubbing her stomach gently, the baby is a little unhappy with the mere pittance it was offered for breakfast, but Seevis promised a meal, while Cameron is occupied.

“I like the guy, it’s just—it’s weird. His devotion to this whole Ori thing is—”

“Uncanny?” It’s how their relationship was described, not only by Dr. Lam, and Dr Jackson, but also Major Lorne in an official report.

He smirks at her, shuffling back from the door, his hand sliding between the banisters to touch her stomach. “I don’t worship you though.”

“What a lovely expression to say to the woman who’s having your child. Perhaps I’ll just need to rethink the whole—”

“You know I love you right?” His hand collects hers, her movement stunted and stopped, even the baby has stopped jostling around within her.

It’s surprising that he said it, but then again, their prognosis on this planet—or any other for that matter—doesn’t appear to be good, and as they’re about to enter in a pact with their enemy, what a better time to empty their hearts.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He goes back to grinning, rubbing her stomach like he’s polishing silver. “I thought you might, but I wanted to make sure.”

“Cameron—”

“What we’re doing is dangerous, Vala.”

“But we both agreed, it needs to be done.”

He nods, playing his thumb over the back of her fingers, an action he sometimes takes when he needs to calm down, center himself, or focus. “We might not make it out.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Tries to tug her hand away, to push away from the railing, but he holds her steady, not hard or hurting, just in place. He’s aware she’s never been good at facing the possibilities of reality. Never good at dealing with the losses, instead choosing to deal with the remorseful ramifications later

That is how she ended up landing her ship and healing a man she didn’t know, but that lay broken before her.

Now he’s constructed and strong in his body, but he’s always been the more invested one, the one that felt he owed her something, and along the way of repaying her with his courtly devotion they fell in love.

It’s marvelous and something she treasures—will always treasure—because no man, no person, has ever made her feel as he does.

But he wants to discuss the idea of this relationship waning, not from loss of interest or loss of adoration, rather, loss of life. 

The probability of him perishing while attached to that Ancient device Seevis said can communicate with other worlds is high enough that he needs to pare off ends with her, make sure she understands the consequences, that they both agreed on before undertaking the task of trying to communicate with Earth.

“There’s not another time to talk about this.” His hand grows hot around hers. She can feel the slickness of his perspiration, smell the familiar scent of him growing agitated and stern, his sun-soaked skin beading sweat against the leather of his vest. “I need to know that if something happens to me, you’ll go.”

“Cameron, please—”

“There’s not much we can do about this, Honey.” He grins up at her, but it’s rueful, worrying, because they both know they haven’t had the best of luck—as individuals or as a family. “But if you get a chance to get out of here without me, I need to know you’ll take it. You’ll get yourself and the baby to safety.”

“How am I supposed to leave you?”

“Well, if you can take me with you—obviously do it, I’m not saying just abandon me—”

She swipes at him, through the space between the bannisters, shoving him in the shoulder as he chuckles, and she finds herself laughing despite the tears rolling down her cheeks.

He collects her hand again, planting a kiss on her knuckles and looking up at her with those playful eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Promise me, if you can go, you’ll go.”

Keeps hold of his hand but stares out the loft windows at the tiny birds finishing building their nest, their twitters echoing over the sounds of the villagers leaving for the canyon, as their child dances within her.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.   
> I don't remember if I've used it before on a different chapter for the series, so I apologize if I have.


	3. Damned Saint, Honorable Villain

Seevis hooks Cameron up to some sort of communication device which uses stones as beacons. She’s not educated in the ways of the Ancients, only as much as Dr. Jackson has taught her, but as soon as Cameron places the stone in a slot, he falls into a somewhat unconscious state. Though he is sitting straight, he can no longer communicate with her or Seevis.

She’s still wary of their would-be cohort, still remembers how rough his hands were on her skin as he helped men drag her from the house, while dodging the utensils and bowls she hurled at him.

To his benefit, he stays fairly silent throughout the ordeal, not even speaking as he offers her a bowl of the stew he’s prepared.

Despite her hunger and her famished child demanding she inhale not only this bowl, but one or two more, she holds the spoon still in her hand, staring down at the delicious smelling meal.

“Is it unsatisfactory?” Seevis sits on the opposite side of the round table from her. Cameron separating them. His eyes closed, his breathing even, his face calm.

“I’m just trying to wager the probability that you’ve added poison or something worse to this stew.”

Seevis laughs for the first time since Denya’s death, but it’s probably due to the large mug of ale—his third—sitting on his side. “Why, woman, would I do that?”

“Why did you tear me from my house and place me as a spectacle in the middle of the square?”

He groans, sloshing around the ale in his mug. “As I told you and your husband, they wanted to burn you alive. I gave you a chance.”

“I see.” Cameron’s face twitches and her eyes draw towards him, halting her words momentarily. “So, I’m to presume it was the kindness of your heart that kept me chained in the elements for a full day.”

Seevis, chugs back the rest of his ale, frothy bits sticking to his upper lip which he wipes away boorishly with his sleeve. “A lot better than the alternative.”

“Not if you don’t know your death isn’t imminent.” Her stomach growls loudly, and the baby shudders within her, protesting as to why she hasn’t started to devour the stew when they both know how hungry she is.

“Look.” The brassiness returns to his voice, and his eyes fall to half-lids as he stands, probably to retrieve another refill of ale from behind the bar. “They wanted me to burn you, drag you out and light you up. The villagers wouldn’t have even blinked an eye.”

His words place her hands back into her lap, away from the bowl before her. “Cameron would have.”

There’s bumping behind her as he collides with dust covered tables, and stumbles over chair legs, catching himself before stumbling again. “Yes, and while I’m sure your dutiful husband would’ve slain me where I stood when he came to collect your ashes, I’m also aware that the priors would’ve immolated him as well.”

“Did you save me because of Denya?”

From behind the bar, the sound of ale shooting into his mug hisses through the empty tavern. He scoffs, knocking back another drink, the froth dribbling down his shirt. “That’s preposterous.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“And I don’t care what you think, woman.” He snorts, shooting another batch of froth into the air. “You’re here as a courtesy because I need your husband’s help.”

“I’m here because you couldn’t save Denya.”

“Watch your tongue—”

“You couldn’t help her.”

“You will keep your—”

“You had to let her burn for the cause.”

Seevis slams his mug so hard into the bar top that the handle cracks off it, leading to a leak in the side where the amber liquid pumps out. He points at her, a thick finger jutting in her direction, as he rounds the bar. The words snarl out between his teeth with his spit. “You will not speak her name in my presence.”

“I’m intrigued by your relationship—no one in the town knows what you were to each other.”

“What we were is of no importance to you.”

“Was it hard to let her die?”

“Not as hard as allowing you to live.”

Suspects that this conversation is going to quickly devolve into being one were she may need to physically defend herself, lest she end up as a martyr again back in the square center. She and Cameron were aware of the dangers to both of them, not only to him as he wouldn’t be present to physically defend himself, but also her for the same reasons.

Tried to argue that she is somewhat capable of defending herself, and he was kind enough not to remind her what happened last time.

However, at the moment Seevis stands up, his form no longer looming with all he’s lost and instead a rather pitiful sight, doesn’t remember what he accuses her of, or threatens her with, just remembers the locked door to the permanently closed tavern blasting open, and Tomin opening fire on them still gathered around the table.

The first blast manages to hit the device releasing a cloud of smoke into the already darkened room, it also immediately drags Cameron back his hopeful contact with Earth and booking them a safe passage home. He topples to the floor, regaining consciousness rather violently, his arms covering his head, and then instinctively searching for her.

Tomin’s second shot rings out, the blast illuminating the haze in the room into an opaque sheen. It tears by her, mere inches from her face, and she slips off the chair to the ground, her arm wrapping around her stomach staring directly at Seevis as he’s shot in the side, and then in the back.

Cameron scoops an arm around her, dragging her harshly towards him, using his body to shield her as Tomin stomps into the tavern, his staff drawn and charged, pointing directly at them as Cameron curls himself around her.

She manages to wiggle a hand loose from where it’s pinned between their bodies and holds it up to halt their once gentle friend. “Tomin, stop.”

“The Prior told me I would uncover traitorous acts here.” The man’s face is red, his eyes stark and narrowed, his weapon never ceasing to aim at them. “In years, I would never have speculated it was you.”

“Tomin, you must listen to us—”

“Cameron you are my friend, but the Prior says you’re love for your wife outweighs your devotion for the Ori, which is unacceptable.”

Cameron scrambles to a seating position, still making sure that he’s blocking most of her body, his hand falling back onto her knee. “Tomin, Buddy, you gotta believe us. We’re doing this for the Ori—”

“There is no way the Ori would permit such blatant and outward devotion of another—”

“The baby,” he clamors, his hand moving from her thigh to her stomach. “They said it’s the will of the Ori, they said that—”

And she watches as Tomin shoots down her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title borrowed from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.

**Author's Note:**

> Story title borrowed from Shakespeare's King Lear.   
> Chapter title borrowed from Shakespeare's The Phoenix and the Turtle


End file.
